The End of a Life
by Weavle105
Summary: A relatively short one shot about the Royal Swordsman Will. Not my best, but hey, I'm proud of it.


Finally, silence. His knees buckle, his jaw gapes and his eyes widen in shock beneath his helm, chest heaving against his chain and plate mail armour. He could taste the Ash, the dry, disgusting powder filling his mouth, and yet, couldn't bring himself to empty it from his mouth. He couldn't even bring himself to lift an arm. The pain and exhaustion was unbearable, and even worse, he had no more Estus left. His arms felt heavy, as if threatening to tear from their sockets without warning. His blade, the Greatsword of King Vendrick's royal army, fell to the ground, chipped and dulled from the hours long battle of attrition he had tried so desperately to succeed in. He could feel his body going numb, the heat and the pain fading. Every second felt like a minute as he knelt there upon the stone, the ash surrounding him giving him flashbacks to the hopeless defense against the siege of the giants, of being surrounded by the powdery remains of his fallen brethren, all afflicted by the dark sign on that day, just as he had been. It was something had not thought of, nor even been able to remember, for ages. He's forced back into reality by a fit of coughing, caused by the ash in the air, filling his lungs. Pain spiked throughout his sore, beaten and burnt body as he coughed, before the numbness returned. The heavy crossbow on his back becomes too much to bear, and he slumps forwards, threatening to slip into unconsciousness. He had no magic to defend himself, no Pyromancies, no Miracles, no Sorceries, and as such he had been slaughtered over and over and over again, with nothing but a single ring allowing him to cast a single spell which would lessen the ungodly damage done by the Hellfire rained down upon from what had become his arch nemesis.

The Ancient Dragon of the Dragon Shrine.

Not even the great shield of the Gyrm, a piece of master smithing known for it's incredible defenses against flames could keep him safe. The sheer force of the flames would blast it aside and a burn him to a crisp, he spell Flash Sweat Allowing him to barely survive one fiery blitz at a time. He had nothing to protect him against a being so far above him in all ways, except for a single spell and his own speed. He had burned through his Human effigies just as the burned through him, struggling to stay sane enough to fight, let alone retaining enough strength to even survive the gauntlet between the bonfire and Dragon. He had none left. He could tell he had no more fight in him. One more death, and he would be past the point of no return. He would die, and he would turn hollow. There was no hope left for him.

And then he won. He collapsed, the exhaustion caught up with him, and the winds blew the ashes of his opponent around like dust.

The ashes once again funneled through his helm and fill his lungs, causing him to give in to another painful fit of coughing. He forces himself to slide a hand into a pouch on his belt, barely managing to crush one of the few remaining life gems within, feeling his strength slowly return to him and the numbness slowly fade-along with the subsequent pain caused by the removal of the numbness. He grabs his sword and forces himself to his feet, dragging the weathered blade behind him as he steps out of the cloud of ash, laying his eyes upon the only remains of the beast besides the ashes.

Petrified dragon bones, and the soul of a giant. How strange that an ancient dragon would leave behind the soul of a giant. Not knowing the true nature of the dragon, he dismisses the thoughts, as the life gem works it's magic and soothes his pain and exhaustion, causing a smile to slowly spread across his face as it all sinks in. He had finally done it. He had defeated a dragon. He, little more than a simple royal swordsman in the army of Drangleic, who had managed to survive and strengthen himself with the souls of his fallen enemies, had killed a Dragon. For the first time since the siege of the giants, the nihilist felt that just maybe life did have a meaning to it. He wasn't sure what it was, nor did he think he would find out any time soon, but this did not matter. Something about defeating such a legendary creature on his last leg was just... Inspiring. No longer did he have nothing, and no longer was he threatening to go hollow and any moment. He finally had something to call his own.

His pride, and his happiness.

* * *

That boss is a d**k, and I hate him. Swordsman Will's reaction to killing the Ancient Dragon? Nooooot too far off from my own. Suggestion; Stay on the inside of his hind legs, meaning the right of his left leg and the left of his right leg, and poke the s**t out of him, then get the flaark out when he tries to stomp you. It can, and will, do massive damage.


End file.
